


To Repay Offense

by vaultbug



Series: nail and shield [3]
Category: Hollow Knight (Video Games)
Genre: (tiso voice) do i want to beat him up or kiss him, Banter, Fluff, M/M, Sparring, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:54:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23978548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaultbug/pseuds/vaultbug
Summary: “You heard me.” Tiso drew his shield right then and there, ignoring the subtle pain in his side. “Fight me.”“Again?” Quirrel turned fully towards him now and that hand on the poker tapped impatiently. “You’re --”“Do not call me weak,” Tiso growled over him.“ -- tired. I was going to say tired, my friend.”
Relationships: Quirrel & Tiso (Hollow Knight), Quirrel/Tiso (Hollow Knight)
Series: nail and shield [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1641145
Comments: 19
Kudos: 152





	To Repay Offense

**Author's Note:**

> commission by anonymous!

There were a great deal of things Quirrel had done to piss Tiso off.

Offense #1: saving him when he didn’t need to be. Offense #2, after the City of Tears the pill bug escorted him all the way to a Stag Station to take to Dirtmouth, where he then managed to barter and purchase Tiso a house to stay and recover. Tiso didn’t have money left to pay for that after the coliseum. Offense #3 was that Quirrel stuck around for a few days to bother Tiso about his wound and how it was healing. 

Offense #4? 

The bastard then left him.

He scowled over the bench, crossing his arms. Next to him that dratted Elder seemed to be whistling happily as the bug preened over a -- flower? Was that a flower? -- as the large lady beetle next to him seemed to be fascinated with the glint of his shield, turning away flustered any time he caught her gaze with his glare. Ever so often the wind kicked up and blew dust into his eyes, causing him to wipe them frantically or hide behind his shield. The well sometimes echoed with screams of husks or roared, sweet sickly smell rising up strong midday. It was a miserable, ugly little town and Tiso loathed it.

And Quirrel had left him.

He shouldn’t be so offended, should he? The bug reeked of the travelling sort, the happy go-doer who prattled along staring at broken rock and calling it beautiful. He shouldn’t have expected the bug to stay, when it was so obviously  _ not  _ in Quirrel’s nature to linger around. Yet here he was. Busy  _ mooning  _ over Quirrel’s absence as if he was more than upset, like Quirrel meant something to him. 

Which he didn’t. Not at all. Pssh. Tiso chalked up his thought process to irritation at being left in a town full of cowards, with nothing but his shield and a gesture of goodwill. He did not get attached to bugs. Bugs came and left without goodbyes, died in your hands before you were able to save them. His shield was testimony to  _ that _ little detail. Quirrel meant nothing, and would never mean anything more than a vexing spar and embarrassing defeat.

( _ yet. When he closed his eyes. Quirrel, warm, over him, lilting laugh -- _ )

The wind kicked up again. Shuddering, Tiso curled into himself at the edge of the bench and glared at the well. If he saw Quirrel again, he’d cream the bastard for this snub. Give him a good cuff around the head or something. Yes. That would be payment enough. He’d destroy that bug, humiliate him in combat for this disgrace --

The chain rattled. He snapped his attention sideways, musing forgotten. As he watched, the chain clanked once more and then an arm emerged from the well. Tiso’s heart leapt and he found himself on his feet and already at the well before he could blink. Grabbing it he yanked the bug up and scowled. “How dare you  _ leave  _ me --”

The pale little nuisance stared back at him, dangling from his grip.

Ah. “You’re not Quirrel,” he accused them.

The Knight tilted their head.

“I’m looking for him, pale thing.” He held them up more and gestured with his shield. “He brought me here outta the coliseum. I want to repay him that insult. Do you know where he is?”

A slight nod. So the little nuisance was good for something after all. “Then take me to him,” he demanded. 

The Knight did not say a word but somehow Tiso became all aware the pest was eyeing his wound. He dropped them and they hit the edge of the well and nearly fell; but at the last second, gripped onto the brick with fervor. There they hauled themselves up, stood their ground and brushed the coating of dust off their cloak with a decided slowness.

Tiso thought of punting them then, towards the graveyard. It was a shame he needed them. “Little pest,” he said and covered the wound with his hand. “Take me to Quirrel  _ now _ .”

_ Fine _ , the Knight seemed to say back and leapt down the well.

* * *

Surprisingly, the trip was short. Tiso followed the little pest all the way through the crossroads to the edges of an area he did not recognize. There the path turned fresh and mossy; sludge and leaves crumbled together to stain the place such a vivid green that Tiso was almost reminded of home. It was almost as unpredictable as home too, with the pools of acid that edged the paths and bushes that seemed to spring to life when Tiso looked away. Still they were hardly dangerous. He had far harder opponents to face in the past.

He smelt fire first before he saw the pill bug. The Knight raced ahead and turned a corner; Tiso followed, stiff side forgotten. As he advanced he heard Quirrel’s voice and that only provoked him to walk faster.

“Oh, hello,” Quirrel’s voice was saying. He turned the corner and there the pill bug was, tending to a half-smothered fire with intent to put it out. “Here you are again. What are you doing here?”

The Knight turned to look at him. Quirrel glanced up. Tiso steadied himself, but was still not prepared for that gaze to flick over him and  _ focus _ . The poker stilled; the gaze vivid, examining him with such enthusiasm from tip to toe and settling with importance at the crack in his shell. The bug was archiving him with his very gaze, filling in the details of what had transpired by just a mere look. 

Not that he was much better. Really, seeing Quirrel again lit a famished hunger in his soul. Dirtmouth had been dull, sullen territory -- here now in the dark of the den he found himself antsy to move, to challenge once more. He found the nail at Quirrel’s side, familiar glint, and memories of steel in the bug’s hands filled him. Those carried on to other memories, ones of water and calloused hands wrapped in his own. A protective gaze over his. 

_ (over him, heated fingers trailing down) _

Tiso realized he was holding his breath, and exhaled roughly. 

Though for all his visible interest Quirrel gave no sign of it in his greeting.“Ah, it’s you,” he said, as if they were chance meeting again in their travels. Tiso hated the friendliness, loathed it with his being. “Fancy meeting you here. Did the little one bring you to this neck of the Kingdom?”

He had no friendly words. Just pride. “Fight me,” he spat back.

Quirrel squinted at him. That was really the only way to go about describing it; the bug had stopped purely in the middle of tending to the fire to stare at him, head tilted in such a manner Tiso could only describe it as  _ squinting  _ despite the bug’s eyes covered by his mask. One hand idly caressed the fire poker. “Excuse me?” 

“You heard me.” Tiso drew his shield right then and there, ignoring the subtle pain in his side. “Fight me.”

“Again?” Quirrel turned fully towards him now and that hand on the poker tapped impatiently. “You’re --”

“Do not call me  _ weak _ ,” Tiso growled over him.

“ -- tired. I was going to say  _ tired _ , my friend.” Quirrel raised one hand as if an apology. “We should save this for later. It has been a month since we last met and --” and his eyes drew over the sealed crack in Tiso’s carapace, so slowly Tiso could almost feel the gaze like a jagged knife. “Well.”

He snarled. “Are you calling me fragile?”

“If that’s what it takes to avoid this,” Quirrel jabbed back.

He glared and took his stance without a word. That spoke more volumes than any squabbling he could throw back at the bug. Dimly he was aware that the pale thing was gone, most likely back to Dirtmouth. Whether that was from boredom of their dispute or disinterest, he did not care. It meant more space. Good. 

Quirrel sighed at his stance. “Must it be a fight.” It sounded deadpan, annoyed; but the bug had placed the poker down as if already ready for a spar. Tiso thought;  _ hypocrite.  _ “Can we not talk this out?”

“Fight. Me.” The words were accented.

Quirrel finally raised both his hands, irritation broadcast clear over his body. “Fine, fine,” the bug said, although it was obvious he was displeased with these arrangements. “Where then?”

“There is no better place than here,” Tiso challenged. “Procrastinating?”

Quirrel lowered his hands. His gaze fell onto Tiso’s and in it, something had frozen over. Like a cloak shed the pill bug swiftly drew one leg back into a tail’s guard, poised as ready to lash out. 

“Ready?” Quirrel called out. His voice was rough.

“Ready,” Tiso answered.

The nail struck out.

And was blocked. Tiso raced into Quirrel’s space; Quirrel dashed back but he reached out with one hand over that long nail’s grip to grab Quirrel’s bandana and bash his shield into his chest. A solid  _ thud  _ reverberated between them. Quirrel exhaled, a low hiss; and Tiso was sure that he had pissed the pill bug off because his next slash was heavy, provoked. The nail ripped down. Tiso turned his shield and deflected it. That spark of hunger in his chest  _ flared _ .

He chased Quirrel across the glade. Mud sprayed up between them, shrubbery getting the worse of their blows. He managed to land a few glancing bashes on the carapace of his opponent but nothing more. Quirrel, however, was writing his nail’s mark on Tiso’s shield as if intending to rip the paint off of it. He turned just to deflect another slash and the noise of the nail’s tip made on the shield was a shriek. 

“You’re quiet again,” noted Quirrel. There was a laugh in his voice once more, just like their first spar. Tiso drank it up like a lifeline against the dull pain in his side. “Come now. Where’s that competitiveness?”

He threw his shield, ducked. The nail tore the air over him with a high pitched shriek.  _ Using old tricks,  _ he thought triumphantly and caught his shield. “Then show me more  _ fight _ ,” he called back to Quirrel.

The bug hummed, pleased. The nail got faster.  _ Perfect _ , Tiso thought.

Though it was a lazy fight compared to the first, and not because Tiso was injured. No, he was distracted. Distracted by the fleeting touches of Quirrel’s nail on his shield. Quirrel, dashing past him and landing perfectly on his feet. Quirrel, laughing and fleeting and so, so alive it took his breath away. It made him sloppy, had him tripping and stumbling about the glade as if inebriated. And he supposed he was drunk, wasn’t he? Drunk on the sight of Quirrel, of the fight and what it could bring, what it could mean. Was he truly here to fight? 

_ (quirrel’s hand, firm against the nail. How would it feel?) _

Quirrel noted the shift. The nail hits became suddenly light, little darting strokes that did nothing more than nick his shield. Outrage blossomed at that and he took it upon himself to smash his shield into the next blow. This instead hit Quirrel’s hand on the hilt, making a smacking noise that reverberated through the field. 

Quirrel lept back, a half-grunt caught in his throat. Tiso waited for an onslaught,  _ wanted it _ , but the pill bug did not move. “One would think you’re being a vex on purpose,” he said across the glade. Although he did not show signs that Tiso had injured him, his hand twitched on the hilt of his nail unconsciously. That would bruise. Tiso felt a little victory at that. “What do you hope to accomplish here?”

He circled the pill bug warily. “I’m repaying an offense.” 

Quirrel straightened a little, as if frustrated. His voice carried both a laugh and amazement. “Are you still bothered by the coliseum?”

The coliseum was old news. “You bought me a  _ house _ ,” he argued. 

Honest confusion snaked through Quirrel’s voice. “Is that so bad?”

Tiso glared and threw his shield. It swiped forward; but Quirrel was no longer there, and before he could react the pill bug slapped the blunt end of his hilt into Tiso’s side. It struck right above where the crack started. Tiso saw white. Faintly he was aware of Quirrel's swear and the clatter of a nail hitting ground, hands catching him right before he nosedived straight into the dirt. 

A moment. Then the pain started. 

“Ow, ow,  _ ow _ ,” Tiso swore. He rose unsteadily up and found his face directly in Quirrel' chest. "Did  _ \-- did you just hit my wound?" _

"Uh," said Quirrel and faintly Tiso became aware the pill-bug was trembling against him. Whether it was laughter or nerves he could not tell. "I think so."

He should’ve been furious. Should’ve. But they were so close and Quirrel’s face was right,  _ right _ there. That heat in his chest curled. Ravenous memories rose, heavy from countless nights staying up late thinking of Quirrel’s hands against his body, remembering the weight on his thighs as the pill bug straddled him to hold him down. That hand on his chest was the same calloused one that held his own in the hot spring, comfort and care evident in its kindness. As those memories rose he realized he too, was hot and warm, in a way that wasn’t just from the thrill of fighting. His chitin ached for more of that touch. He wanted to hold Quirrel then, push him down and feel the pill bug’s gentle hands around him. Or, as the hungry part of him leered, feel the other Quirrel, the one in the spars who laughed with slight wickedness and crooked delight. For Quirrel to trace his chitin, trail touch between his thighs and keep  _ going _ .

Ah.

So that was what this was.

His face burned."What the  _ hell,"  _ he managed finally. His voice sounded weak.

"Sorry," Quirrel said back. To hear his voice this close was worse. So much worse. A pause, and then the bug added. "I think one trip to the hot springs was enough, don't you?"

He was too flustered to even attempt punching the bug. Instead he continued to glare at the ground, hoping to the gods the bug would think it was in pain rather than embarrassment. The gods heard his pleas and only laughed because one of Quirrel's hand shifted up to tap the side of his head. “Not hurting too bad, is it?” The pill bug asked. Tiso did not answer, afraid his voice would betray him. "Ah. We could sit down, if you'd like."

Tiso tried to find words. Needed time to figure this out. But time was a faraway concept and Quirrel was so close. “No," he tried but it died on his lips as Quirrel tried to meet his gaze. "No, seriously, it's just." A hand touched his cheek. The next thought was pure panic. “I have to go,” he spluttered.

Quirrel did not let up. Actually, to be honest the pill bug only seemed confused, which would be the appropriate response to Tiso’s whiplashing behaviour. The bug pulled away just slightly. “You have to --  _ what _ ?” 

“Go.” It was visibly strained when he said it. Wonderful. If the bug wasn’t confused now, he would be concerned. Of course he would be! It was  _ Quirrel _ , the bug who dragged him from the coliseum, bought him a house in Dirtmouth for no other reason than concern. Tiso was beginning to realize exactly what that burning feeling in his chest  _ was  _ and with the realization he was about, oh, five seconds from spontaneously combusting. “I gotta go, let me  _ go -- _ ”

One hand canted his head up. Tiso caught the bug's eyes, and his flush must've been evident because Quirrel’s eyes widened. “ _ Oh _ ,” breathed the bug and said no more.

There was silence then, the dangerous kind, the type that left unspoken things linger in the air. He couldn't meet Quirrel's gaze so he fixed his eyes on his ground instead, counting blades of grass, miscounting, distracted. 

Quirrel's voice was hushed next, so quiet as if not to let the trees hear. "So, you --?" A pause. "With me?"

To hear the words out loud together seemed almost comical. Mortification rose like bile in his mouth. "Don't laugh," he stammered.

"Why would I laugh?" The pillbug replied. 

And it was so peculiar how easy it was for Quirrel to lean back and shift his mask sideways. One hand lifted and cupped his face -- and Tiso’s heart skipped many as Quirrel leaned in and nicked the side of his jaw, gently. He didn't even feel the sting of the mark. Warmth swelled in his chest and Tiso pulled himself to expose himself more; needing more of that touch, more of that soft care he missed so much in Dirtmouth. What fire that was in his spine swelled to an inferno, devouring Quirrel's proximity with relish. 

He had dreamed of this, yes, dreams of Quirrel over him, sharp kisses edging his chitin and smothering him, devouring him. Soft touches, sloppy hands in the dark. His nights were spent under shifting blankets, pain and pleasure mixed together down his spine, flicking fingers down his carapace but never quite submitting to the desire of touching himself. It seemed too bold a move, even if it was himself with lonely hands. Pride made him wait. Pride made him yearn.

It seemed so untrue, Quirrel here, soft mouth hot against his. Tiso dared not shut his eyes, whether he woke up to it being another dream and chased Quirrel’s mouth with his.

Hands fell on his shoulders, pushed him back. Quirrel’s eyes were bright, although full of uncertainty. "I should’ve asked," the pill bug said, abashed. His voice wavered. "Do -- do you want me to --?"

It was so Quirrel to  _ ask,  _ Tiso was infuriated by it. He seized the bandana and dragged Quirrel back flush against him, pride be damned. “Do not  _ dare  _ stop,” he snarled. 

Quirrel laughed. Tiso shut him up by meeting him halfway.


End file.
